Return From the Brink
by Irish36
Summary: Part one of a tale which documents the events experienced by the men and women who fought in New Mombassa. Brief cameo s by Spartan 117. Based on the John 117 Memorial. May not be exactly canon. Contains language and strong war violence. Reviews welcome.


Prologue

1750 hours, July 4th, 2610 (Military Calendar)\

Museum of Humanity, Outskirts of New Mombasa, Earth

The lofted ceilings and windows were aglow with the light of the setting sun. The Museum of Humanity was quiet this afternoon, yet in the hush of the large building so many stories were told. There was one such story, amidst the numbers of other accounts told within these walls, that holds a certain degree of importance. In fact, many to this day agree that it is indeed the most important story told here, so much so that there is a massive display in the center of the museum celebrating it. While the other displays show great battles where nation was pitted against nation, man against man, the memorial in question depicts a battle where all of humanity was united with one common goal: survival.

The Battle of New Mombasa, or as some have come to call it "The Second Battle for Earth", is the name of this conflict. It was the second of two battles in history where an alien race had invaded Earth, and the invaders in question were the agents of humanity's extinction, a coalition of malevolent alien races known as the Covenant. This battle was, essentially, humanity's last stand and nobody knew it better than the men and women who fought, bled, and died there.

One such man stood before the immense diorama that depicted a condensed version of the events of that hellish day. Captain William "Bill" Carver, retired, of the United Nations Space Command Marine Corps stood admiring the piece. It was wonderful yet terrible at the same time. Seeing the display with its excruciating attention to detail awoke many things in his aged heart, the sounds of the battle played in his ears, the voices of friends lost chorused over the noise. However, through the grief brought on by the memories of the past, he also found good. It was here, where so much had been lost, with humanity's back to the wall and the jaws of extinction looming before them, they found hope, hope which was embodied by one soldier who fought by their side.

He was the easiest to pick out in the diorama, even after thirty years Bill could still spot him. There he was, the genetically enhanced super soldier Master Chief, Petty Officer, John-117 or as the men knew him, the Chief. In the eyes of the marines who had served under him, he was more of a God than man. There he was, atop a hill in the custody of the enemy, at the turn of the tide. "Or rather," thought Bill grinning to himself, "when he turned the tide." In his mind, he could see it all happening as if he was there again, twenty-five years old and just a gunnery sergeant at the time. He could smell the scent of gunpowder from the rifles, the strange electrical aroma of discharging plasma weapons, and the smell of burning flesh, Covenant and human alike. Seeing this scene made him step back, both willingly, yet apprehensively, in time into his shoes to that battle fifty years ago, the sights, sounds, and faces he had encountered on that day would remain with him until the day he died.

Chapter 1

30 Years Ago; 6th Day of Fighting

1000 hours, March 4th, 2553 (Military Calendar)\

Outside of New Mombasa's business district

Seven days. For seven, god forsaken, days Bill Carver and his unit had been engaging the enemy. The battle had turned from the typical massive land battle that was so common in the war against the covenant to down and dirty, street to street, house to house fighting amidst the rubble. New Mombasa, or rather the ruins of New Mombasa, had become a battleground. According to the commanding officer of the Earth's defenses, Commander Terrence Hood, the Covenant were searching for something in or around New Mombasa, something that could seal the fate of mankind to permanent extinction. It was up to the remaining Marines in the UNSC to make sure that did not happen. Thousands upon thousands of Covenant against a couple thousand Marines was not exactly a fair fight, and many knew it. This was the scene for seven hellish days, where each minute of each hour felt like another step towards extinction. It was on this day of days, the seventh day that would decide the fate of mankind.

Carver and his men had been under the command of Lieutenant Henry Cho of the 17th Marine Division, the remnants of the main force at the Battle of New Mombasa. He remembered most of them, some were fresh out of boot and slated for immediate action, he did not have the privilege of knowing their names unfortunately. The few he could remember were privates Andrea Farrell, Hank Billings, Tyler Reed, and corpsman Philip Anderson. All of them except for Anderson and Reed were as green behind the ears as was possible. In other words, they were scared shitless. There was also corporal Jose Sanchez. He was the unit's sniper, and stealth ops specialist. All friends, all brothers and sisters in arms, and it hurt Carver to remember that most of them would not survive the day.

They were being sent to fortify the front lines, where Covenant forces were routing the marine defenders. Carver's unit had been inbound in a motorcade of five M12 Warthogs; two troop carriers and three support vehicles, bringing extra munitions and supplies to the lines. Lt. Cho was in the lead Hog, Carver and the others following in the standard delta formation; three armored Hogs up front, two transports in back. As they neared the battle, Carver remembered seeing the gunner on the back of Cho's Warthog point skyward and beginning to shout the dreaded words, "Incoming!"

The soldier only got about half way through his exclamation when a bright green plasma bolt struck the Warthog center mass, reducing the Lieutenant and the men with him to cinder and the Warthog to a pile of burning scrap. The eerie moan of a Banshee flyer sounded overhead and the purple attack craft roared over the column. Carver and Farrell had to swerve, Carver's vehicle almost flipping, in order to miss the wreckage. There was another flash and the transport warthog that was carrying most of the munitions and four more of his squad mates wet up in flames. The vehicle was still continuing on its course, despite its lack of a driver. After a couple yards, the vehicle then ramped on the driver's side and rolled, spilling the exploding boxes of grenades and charred remains of the marines that had been riding in it over the dusty road.

Carver had to get his men out of the crosshairs of those Banshee flyers. He heard the chain gun in the back of his hog spool up and his gunner, Private first class Terry Reed, let loose a volley of hot lead. Carver quickly glanced at the hog next to his, Farrell was shouting expletives and covering her head with one arm as Billings fired the vehicle's gauss turret. The boom of the anti vehicle weapon shook Carver to the bone even at a distance of ten yards. Next to him, Sanchez began to fire rounds from his sniper rifle at the Covenant aircraft, which was now coming about for a second pass. With the continued firing of the chain gun, the gauss cannon, and Sanchez's SRS99 rifle going off, Carver would have been extremely lucky if he did not go deaf.

There was a blinding flash and wave of intense heat as another plasma bold struck the ground, leaving a crater of molten glass where it impacted and jostling Carver's Hog. The banshee flew by, making for a third pass at the column but it erupted in a flash of blue fire and plasma as Private Reed peppered the hull of the enemy craft. The ship crashed into a concrete building, its reactor going critical and an explosion equal to that of a small bomb shattered what remained of its resting place. "One down, one more to go" Carver muttered to himself. It was then that Carver caught it in his rearview mirror; another Banshee came and replaced its fallen compatriot. Carver clicked his earpiece onto the comm channel frequency and shouted, "Follow me, we have to get out of their line of fire!"

His squad mates acknowledged this plan of action and Carver swerved under a ruined overpass. They drove underneath the structure, dodging the supports of the roadway above. The Covenant craft were not so easily fooled, however. The two banshees took up positions over the three remaining jeeps and let loose a volley of blue plasma from their main guns. The columns ahead of the jeeps shattered and the roadway began to collapse. Carver banked into a side street and down an alley. It would take more than that to prevent him and his men from reaching the front lines. He looked ahead of him and saw that a building had toppled onto its side, more than likely due to plasma or rocket bombardment. Their way through was cut off. "Pull over here!" he shouted and the three hogs came to a screeching halt in front of what appeared to be a block of apartments.

"Move, move! Get those supplies out of the hog! We'll have to hump it on foot!" shouted Carver as he dismounted his Warthog. The rest of his men all jumped out of their rides, the men and women from the remaining troop carrier holding big boxes of medical supplies and a weapon's trunk while Billings and Farrell provided covering fire if the Banshees zeroed in on their position. The other marine who was riding in Farrell's jeep stayed in the passenger seat, apparently in shock.

"Billings!" shouted Carver as he waved the rest of his men into cover, pointing at the man in the passenger seat, "Why is he still in the hog? Get his ass over here now!"

Billings turned and yelled for the man to get moving but he did not budge. There was a loud bang and a flash of green as a plasma bolt found its mark, dead center of the cab. The soldier in the side seat was reduced to ash and bone as the vehicle exploded, showering Billings and Farrell with debris. The Banshees were back.

"Get over here you two!" bellowed Carver.

Billings and Farrell both scrambled into the building, plasma bolts from the main guns of the flyers melting the ground of their last position to glass. "We gotta go deeper in the complex," shouted Carver, "They will be targeting this building next!"

The Marines now under Carver's command quickly moved into another one of the apartment buildings fifty yards away, and not a moment too soon either. There was a loud explosion as the banshees strafed the building using their plasma artillery and cannons.

With a solid roof over their heads, they were able to move around without the fear of being vaporized by the plasma of the Banshee flyers, whose distinct moan still hung in the air, as they patrolled the area, looking for their quarry. After ten minutes of sitting in silence, the marines of the 77th Battalion heard the sound of the banshee's plasma drive engines dissipate as they moved on, seeking fresh targets. There was a collective sigh of relief from Carver and his men; they were safe, but only for the moment.

As the rest of Carver's squad caught their breath, he took the green army cap from his head, wiped his brow free of sweat, and conducted a quick head count. Twelve out of the twenty had made it. Carver was not pleased with the situation, but he had to get these supplies to the front line. Then, a voice came through on his comm unit, "Dagger two-six, this is Over Watch, come in. You guys okay down there?"

"We're alright," said Carver, a sudden pang of regret sweeping over him, "Cho is KIA, so are Wallace and others; lost most of the munitions when the Covenant attacked our convoy. We have the meds though. We are roughly two clicks west of objective, proceeding on foot to the lines, over."

"Roger that Dagger two-six," said their intel-officer, "careful, we have reports of roving Brute and Jackal squads between you and your target. Will keep you up to date with information on their positions as we receive them. Recommend use of encoded channels, no IFF transponders, somehow they are using those to help their fliers pinpoint our positions."

"We copy Over Watch," said Carver, "Dagger two-six out."

"All right men," he said addressing the remainder of the platoon that was now under his command, "Turn off your IFF transponders and switch your comm units to channel 5-74. We are going house to house, get ready for close quarters battle…Command says that there are hostiles between us and our objective."

"Reed, take point."

"Oorah sir," said Reed as he took the lead position at the head of the column, the rest falling in behind him. "Lets move," said Carver.

They exited the building and stepped into the alley, headed west towards the rising columns of smoke that marked where the heaviest of the fighting was taking place. Carver was in-between Sanchez and another private that he did not know. This soldier was green as could be, since he had just recently been slated to his unit.

His unit. That was something he had to get used to. With Cho gone, Carver was trying to get used to the idea that these twelve men and women were now his responsibility. He had been given command of smaller squads before, but that was all the way back in boot. He shook off the jitters; he had to worry about keeping these marines as well as himself alive. He would worry about this promotion to squad leader later.

They had traveled about a block when Reed held up a fist, signaling everyone to halt. They had come to a crossing of one of the paved streets, signifying their entry to downtown. Reed snaked a fiber optic cable around his blind side of the corner. He held up four fingers and signed the letter B, three fingers and signed J, which was followed by the letter T. Four Brutes and three shield wielding Jackals were waiting around the corner and they had a stationary plasma turret set up to cover the street. This was not good. One brute was more than a match for a five men, especially if they had gravity hammers, but four Brutes and a plasma turret with Jackal support? This was going to be tough, given their position, situation and the collective experience of the men under his command. He decided that he would use Sanchez's rifle to try to gain the upper hand in this skirmish.

They had to move quickly, however, as every second wasted meant another soldier was dying because there was no first aid at the front line's hospitals. He addressed Anderson and the five other soldiers carrying the supplies, "Prepare to run, we are going to draw their fire."

"Billings get that Jackhammer ready. Sanchez, try to find a good spot to provide sniper cover."

Billings took the squad's Jackhammer rocket launcher and loaded it as Sanchez began to climb a nearby fire escape in order to gain the height advantage. "The rest of us..." said Carver cocking the action on his gun, chambering a round into the BR55 Battle rifle, "are going to fan out and take what ever cover we can and suppress the enemy. Displace across the street after the last crate makes it to the other side."

There was an uneasy, acknowledging, grumble from the rest of the platoon. He waited for Sanchez to give the go sign.

"Ready, got the enemy in my sights," Sanchez said over the comm.

"Go now!" shouted Carver as he charged from behind the corner.

Chapter2

1045 hours, March 4th, 2553, (Military Calendar)\

Downtown New Mombasa/The Business District

The Brute behind the plasma turret opened fire on Bill as he darted from cover. Carver and Private Reed dove behind an abandoned car; Billings and Farrell took cover behind a portion of a crashed Long Sword fighter that had jackknifed into the pavement near the far side of the street. There was a loud crack and a small, white, vapor trail streaked towards the gunner as Sanchez fired his rifle. The sub-sonic, sabot, round tore a fist-sized hole in the head of the gunner, who keeled over, spraying dark purple blood all over the ground. The rest of the Brutes took cover behind the makeshift barricade they had constructed of rubble and vehicle wreckage, the Jackals returning fire with their covenant carbine rifles. The Brutes blindly fired their weapons from cover; nasty little guns the marines had dubbed Spikers. This was due to the fact that they shot jagged spiked projectiles at their enemies. Carver and Reed took aim at the Jackals first, since they were the biggest threat; they were damned accurate with those carbines.

The first pair ran across the street. It was Anderson and the fresh recruit. They sprinted across the street, dodging spikes and the small radioactive spines from the carbines. They made it across safely, running down the alley to a building a few yards away. The next pair started their run across the street. These Marines were carrying the weapons box, which was a tad bit heavier than the bio foam and bandages stored in the medical crates. The soldier at the back took a carbine round to the shoulder. He grunted, and about dropped the crate, but he gritted his teeth and got the box across. Billings opened fire with the Jackhammer, the section of the barricade where two of the three vulture-like Jackals were firing from disappeared in a cloud of smoke and shrapnel as the rocket impacted. There was very little left of their assailants.

Another loud crack came from Sanchez's rifle and the last jackal dropped, its head missing and a fountain of violet colored blood erupted from the slender stump that had once been its neck. The third and final pair began to cross, the two soldiers sprinting for their lives. After they had started across the street, Farrell and Billings peeled out of cover and returned fire while running. Sanchez fired his rifle, the bullet replaced with a weight bearing cable round, creating an effective zip line from the top of the building he was shooting from to the opposite side of the street. He slung his rifle across his back attached a zip clip, and slid quickly to the other side, beating the four crossing the street.

The remaining Brutes both opened fire with their Spikers, aiming at the two marines carrying the box. The marine at the front of the box took a spike to the head, the metal projectile piercing his helmet like tissue paper. He dropped, the Marine following him flipping over the box as she ran into it. "Leave the box!" shouted Carver over the sound of his rifle as Billings and Farrell passed him. The soldier got up and tried dragging the green crate with one hand, firing her M7 SMG with the other. The spikes quit flying and a Brute came charging from the barricade, covering the distance from the Covenant's fortified position to the marine with the unnatural speed possessed by the massive creatures. It wielded an immense hammer in its hands, the handle easily five feet long, and it roared a blood curdling battle cry as it pounced on its prey.

The large, gorilla-like, alien swung the massive hammer like a baseball bat, connecting with the marine's chest. The woman was sent flying, spinning end over end like a rag doll by the immense force of the blow. She hit an unbroken pane of glass in a nearby storefront window with a great deal of force. A cascade of shattered glass fell as her body passed through it, covering the lifeless soldier's corpse. "Reed!" shouted Carver, now turning to face the threat, "Displace! Regroup with the others!"

Reed turned and ran towards the others down the alley, Carver backpedaling after him. The Brute turned and charged Carver, raising its war-hammer as it strode towards him, its face a snarling collection of leathery skin, jagged yellow teeth, and dark brown hair. Despite this admirable show of force, Carver remained calm. He continued to backpedal, took aim, and fired a three round burst from his rifle. The rounds struck the massive alien in the head and it fell forward, the massive weapon in its hands falling, now harmless, to the pavement.

After Carver saw the pool of dark alien blood collecting on the pavement, he turned his back to the carnage in the street and followed Reed to the rendezvous. As he approached he saw Billings sitting in the doorway of the house a fresh missile pod in the Jackhammer. "Drop!" he shouted, aiming behind his approaching comrade in arms. Carver dove forward, placing his hands over his ears.

There were two explosive thumps in quick succession as the SPNKr missiles sped over Carver's head. Carver opened his mouth and shouted "Drop!" as did the rest of his squad mates, a trick they had learned in basic to prevent damage to their eardrums from explosions in such close proximity. One of the missiles impacted on an advancing Brute, the other hitting a building in its exposed corner strut. The side of the building collapsed, its load-bearing corner reduced to gravel by the missile, creating a crude yet effective barrier between the remaining Brutes and the rest of the platoon. Carver got to his feet and entered the building, Billings slamming the door shut behind them.

Chapter 3

1120 Hours, March 4th, 2553 (Military Calendar)\

New Mombasa's Business District

After their encounter with the Brutes, Carver and the remaining ten men of his platoon were more cautious, sticking to the shadows, taking the side streets, alleys, and carefully cutting through abandoned buildings. Hours later, they were finally within sight of the front lines. The cacophony of the battle was so loud that, despite the fact they were half a kilometer away, it sounded like they were in the thick of it. Carver and his men had to take five, as they had been running non-stop since the firefight with the Brutes. Anderson was tending the shoulder wound of the man who had been hit by the carbine and things were not well with the man. The radioactive projectile on its own was allegedly harmless, but when you had a mass number of these in you, and somehow managed to survive, you would surely die of radiation poisoning. It appeared that the Covenant was using projectiles with a higher RAD count than usual, as the man looked ill.

Carver looked out the shattered window of the salon where they were resting. Just over the next hill, lay the battlefield. Smoke billowed into the sky from fires hidden by the buildings ahead of them. There were a few muffled thumps as distant explosions rocked the foundations of their shelter. Carver could do nothing accept hope that those were Covenant casualties, not UNSC marines. "Sir, I have an incoming transmission from ground command," said Private Farrell, adjusting her radio unit, "patching them through to you now sir."

A voice came over his tactical comm unit; it was the voice of General Thomas Volker, the head of the ground forces in New Mombasa. "Dagger Two-Six, this is Home Plate, the General speaking. What is the status on those supplies?

"We are almost to forward command, sir," said Carver, " We lost some of the supplies in the initial ambush and one more crate on the way. We now have two of the original six. What is the situation there?"

"Bad," replied the general over the comm, an explosion heard in the distance came through the transceiver, "Get what you have here ASAP. Volker out."

The situation was worse than Carver had anticipated. Even though he didn't say it, Carver could tell that the General and the rest of the defense force were losing this fight and this was the one battle that Humanity could not afford to lose.

"Alright men," said Carver as he took a swig of his canteen, "We have to get moving on the double. Anderson, Billings, carry that medical box. HQ is a block away."

"Take point Private Keller," said Carver, singling out a solder sitting in a chair once reserved for paying customers and pointing out the door with his rifle.

The private in question was one of the pair who had made it across the street with the first and only remaining crate of the medical supplies. He shouldered his MA5C and stepped into the doorway, Carver, Sanchez, and the others taking up their positions behind him. The soldier peered around both corners of the entryway, the empty street beyond seeming eerily calm despite the fierce battle raging only a block away. "Clear," the private said and stepped out into the street. He had made it out to the middle of the road, Carver and the others just beginning to move with him, when there was a faint metallic cough and a thin beam of purple energy pierced his chest. The soldier dropped to the deck, not moving, but still alive. "Sniper," he said, "got me pretty good."

"Where is he?" asked Carver, scanning the rooftop, "Sanchez get into position upstairs."

"Roger that sir," said Sanchez and he went to the back stairs, which led to the studio apartment above.

Carver then turned to the soldier who had his arm bandaged. He had become very pale. The wound must have been more severe than Anderson had thought or the marine in question was very sensitive to radiation. "You okay marine?"

He looked back at Carver, "Sir…yes sir."

"Good," said Carver, as he looked at the name stenciled on the sick soldier's chest piece, "Look, Corporal Nelson, we may need you to distract the sniper while we extract Private Keller. Can you run?"

Nelson looked as if he was about to agree, but he grew faint, suddenly losing balance and staggering backwards. He grasped a countertop, recovering from his little episode a little sluggishly. He was in very bad shape. "Never mind, stand fast Corporal," said Carver as he looked back to the street.

Back on the street, the wounded soldier lifted his head an inch, "I see him. Jackal, third building down and to the left, top floor, near a trashed greenhouse…if you can draw his fire, I can get back to yo--,"

A purple beam struck the soldier in the head, which snapped back as if he were punched by a heavyweight fighter and he lay in the street; now motionless.

"Damn it!" swore Carver, "Sanchez did you catch that last shot?"

"I got the building, but no shooter," replied Sanchez, "I need one of you to draw his fire."

"I'm on it sir," said Farrell, patting Nelson's shoulder as she stepped to the door, "Just say the word."

Farrell was one of the fastest soldiers in the platoon, a perfect rabbit for the situation. "If you insist," said Carver, "Sanchez you set?"

There was a brief pause and then Sanchez replied in a horse whisper, "Set."

"Run for it Farrell," said Carver.

On the second floor, Sanchez had sighted in the location of the sniper; all he needed now was a shot. While most snipers needed a spotter to help them shoot, Sanchez was an exception to the rule, he was one of the best shooters in the UNSC, especially now what with the size of the army being drastically reduced. He exhaled and took a deep breath. He saw movement behind one of the shattered panes in the greenhouse. "Gotcha," he thought to himself and pulled the trigger.

Andrea Farrell took off at the Gunny's signal. She sprinted across the street, zigzagging periodically in an attempt to throw off the sniper's aim. She passed the body of her fallen compatriot; his face had been replaced by a smoldering hole of cauterized blood and bone. She felt a chill course through her body. A momentary realization came to the front of her mind, "That could be me if that sniper was any good."

Farrell's past experience with the 77th Marine division had taught her one thing: most Covenant snipers were very proficient at what they did. She could almost feel the sniper watching her through the scope, which did not help to sooth her already tattered nerves. A phosphorescent beam of violet light passed a mere five inches from her head. The heat from the plasma bolt seared her face. She cried out in a mix of shock and pain, staggered for a second and kept running. There was a loud crack as Sanchez's rifle fired. Farrell made it to the opposite side of the street. "That's a kill," said Sanchez's voice over the radio, "Clear to move the supplies. You okay Farrell?"

"Yeah," said Farrell felling the burn on her cheek, "I'll live."

"Move now. Farrell, Reed, and I will provide cover just in case of another ambush," said Carver as he took up a cover fire position inside the doorframe, Reed ducking behind a crashed warthog.

Anderson and Billings picked up the medical crate and set off across the street. They made it, no shots fired. Then Reed motioned for the weapons crate to be moved, the crew, acknowledged his signal and prepped to move. The two marines carrying it were the pair that had began this run through hell carrying the medical supplies. Nelson, though pale, had his rifle at the ready and ran in front of them as they crossed. The three marines set off at a dead sprint. "Wait!" shouted Sanchez over the comm, "I have movement due south! I think it's a Hunter pair!"

Carver looked to the south, and he heard them before he saw them. A loud guttural growl came from behind a small truck, which was flipped end over end as the two massive aliens hurled it out of their way. The two creatures stood almost ten feet high and covered head to foot in armor that rivaled the defensive plating of a standard issue UNSC cruiser. Each carried a massive shield that was almost as tall as their owners and as thick as a section of UNSC Battleship armor, and attached to their other arm was a portable version of the fuel rod gun that was typically mounted on the undercarriage of Banshees.

Sanchez fired two shots in quick succession, aiming for the orange tissue that was barely visible on the body of the hulking monsters. One of his bullets hit home, striking the alien in the neck. A fountain of fluorescent orange blood sprayed out of the wound and the creature dropped. Carver, Farrell, and Reed all opened fire, attempting to bring down the second behemoth. The alien roared in anger and its arm mounted gun heated up and he aimed it at Nelson and the men carrying the weapons case. "Lookout!" shouted Farrell.

Nelson and the two marines saw what awaited them, and made the hard choice. The two soldiers heaved the case, which flew through the air and skidded across the pavement, Corporal Nelson spreading his arms wide in a futile attempt to shield his brothers in arms. The air around the three men glowed the sick, plasma green that was associated with Covenant weapons and they vaporized as the plasma blast hit them.

"No!" Shouted Carver as what remained of the valiant marines fell to the deck, "Bring the bastard down!"

"Can't," radioed Sanchez, "Weapon's jammed!"

Bullets pinged off of the thick armor of the alien as it raised its plasma weapon and aimed for Sanchez's position. "Sanchez, displace!" radioed Carver. There was a thump from across the street as Billings fired the Jackhammer at the monster. The rocket hit the gun on the arm of the Hunter and it exploded in a flash of green flame and black smoke as the plasma became unstable. The Hunter howled in what Carver could only imagine was a mix of pain and rage. It began to charge towards its new tormentor, the three-foot long spines on its back fully erect, hefting its shield with one arm, the plate of metal raised like an ultra wide, ultra long, spear blade. Then there was a spray of orange as a sniper round connected with the back of the creature's head. Sanchez said, his voice full of cold rage, "Threat eliminated. Lets get the hell out of here."

The remnants of the platoon, Farrell, Carver, Billings, Reed, Anderson and Sanchez all gathered up the supplies and marched to the front lines. They found the battlefield command center, based in an old embassy building. They entered the building and were met by some NCOs who secured their cargo. Carver sat down on a stool, "A lot of men and women have died to get this stuff here," he thought, "It had better be put to good use."

"Gunnery Sergeant," said an NCO as he came over, "The general wants to see you. He's at Mission Control."

"Thanks Corporal," said Carver as he got to his feet, "Platoon, re-arm and regroup. We are getting back in this fight as soon as I figure out what the General wants."


End file.
